Oh, weep not for the dead! Rather, oh rather give the tear To those that darkly linger here, When all besides are fled; Weep for the spirit withering In its cold cheerless sorrowing, Weep for the young and lovely one That ruin darkly revels on; But never be a tear-drop shed For them, the pure enfranchised dead.
Oh, weep not for the dead! No more for them the blighting chill, The thousand shades of earthly ill, The thousand thorns we tread; Weep for the life-charm early flown, The spirit broken, bleeding, lone; Weep for the death pangs of the heart, Ere being from the bosom part; But never be a tear-drop given To those that rest in yon blue heaven.
"AFFECTION WINS AFFECTION."
BY EMMA C. EMBURY.
Mine own beloved, believest thou ought of this? Oh! then no more My heart, o'er early faded dreams of bliss Its wail shall pour.
Give me this hope, though only from afar It sheds its light, And, like yon dewy melancholy star, With tears is bright—
Let me but hope a heart with fondness fraught, That could not sin Against its worshipped idol, e'en in thought, Thy love may win:
Let me but hope the changeless love of years, The tender care That fain would die to save thine eye from tears, Thy heart may share.
Or let me hope at least that, when no more My voice shall meet The ear that listens only to think o'er Tones far more sweet;